


Repercussions

by a_pondicus



Category: Grand Theft Auto: Vice City
Genre: M/M, desk!sex, slight dub-con
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-04-23
Updated: 2013-04-23
Packaged: 2017-12-09 06:56:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,818
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/771327
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/a_pondicus/pseuds/a_pondicus
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>One of Forelli's men decides that Tommy DOES have the money, and comes to collect. Tommy gets shot, and Ken has an ever increasing attraction that he can't hide. When he accidentally riles Tommy up while changing his bandages, Ken finds out that there are repurcussions for every action. Male/male explicit. Don't like, don't read.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Repercussions

The first time Tommy walked into Ken’s office wearing the suit he picked up at Rafael’s, Ken was floored.

 

“ _Tommy_ ,” Ken breathed in awe, earning a sharp look from the man.  He cleared his throat and finished nonchalantly, “Don’t you clean up nice.”  And he really did.  His slight Florida tan was nicely complimented by the sharp, clean lines of the purple jacket, the black button-up shirt making the fact that his hair was actually a dark brown noticeable.  The bastard looked like he’d just walked out of an Armani photo-shoot, and looked as comfortable as if he’d been wearing them all his life- definitely not the case.

 

“Shut the fuck up, Ken,” Tommy retorted, his tenor voice growling out the words.  “There ain’t nothin’ wrong with the stuff I usually wear.”

 

“Sure, if you’re going to a bar, or a strip joint,” the lawyer replied with a snort.  Tommy flipped him off and slumped into the chair facing Ken’s desk.  Ken followed suit, although more gracefully, and attempted to placate his friend.  “Honestly, it suits you.  Really.”

 

“Jesus, Ken, did you call me in to compliment me or to tell me why I’m wearing this thing?”

 

“Oh, right.  You’re supposed to meet Cortez down by the docks.  He’s having another party, and his daughter’s been asking about you.”  Ken finished his sentence with a suggestive eyebrow waggle, and a small grin broke Tommy’s scowl.

 

“I could do that.”  Fuck yeah, he could.  Tommy was excellent with the ladies.  Besides, everybody knew that Mercedes had a… _thing_ … for one Tommy Vercetti.

 

VCVCVC

 

“ _Ay, Dios mio! Si_ _́, si_ _́! Thomas!”_   Mercedes let slip a cacophony of similar exclamations, some English, some Spanish, as Tommy showed her how real men did it, in every position imaginable.  She came with a wrenching cry and a slew of Spanish expletives, and he came soon after with a groan.  He pulled out and gingerly slid the rubber off, tossing it in the trash before collapsing on the bed beside a still heavily-panting Mercedes. He rested his hand on her stomach, watching it rise and fall with each breath she took, silently admiring the contrast of his sun-tanned skin to her naturally dark complexion.  He felt her watching him, and he looked up, dark brown eyes meeting smoky caramel ones.

 

“That was wonderful, Thomas,” she said softly, her exotic lilting cadence carrying easily to his ears.  He replied with a smile, his eyes drifting closed as she gently ran her fingers through his hair.  They both jumped a little when the shrill ring of Tommy’s cell phone shattered the silence.

 

“God damn it,” he grunted as he shifted in the bed, groping for his pants on the floor.  He quickly found his phone, and flipped it open angrily after checking the caller i.d.  “What the hell do you want, Ken?”

 

“ _Hope I’m not interrupting, Tommy, but we’ve got a problem.”_

 

“I’m sure it can wait til morning.”

 

“ _’Fraid not, man.  I need you down here pronto._ ”  The call disconnected.

 

“Fuck.”

 

“Leaving already?” Mercedes lamented as Tommy stuffed his legs into his trousers, then shrugged into his shirt.

 

“Ah, you know the saying.  No rest for the wicked,” he replied with a lopsided grin as he slid into the jacket.  “Where are my damn shoes?”

 

“By the door.  Those were the first to go,” she answered, knowing full-well he was talking to himself.

 

“Thanks.  Gotta run.”

 

“I’ll see you around, handsome,” Mercedes said with a lazy smirk, sleep already overtaking her.

 

“I’m sure you will.”

 

VCVCVC

 

Tommy burst into Ken’s office, flinging the door open with a bang, and the lawyer jumped straight out of his chair with a yelp.  Relief washed over his face when he saw who it was who nearly tore his door off, then regret at the sour expression on his friend’s face.

 

“Sorry, Tommy, but we’ve got a problem.  A big one.”

 

The seriousness of Ken’s tone made Tommy actually look at the man.  He was bedraggled, dark circles of stress under his eyes.  Ken began to pace as Tommy sat down.

 

“What’s the problem so big I can’t have a night to myself?”  He couldn’t resist ribbing the lawyer, even in his panicked state.  Ken sighed testily at him, not once stopping his pacing.

 

“One of Forelli’s men has gone rogue,” he replied, running his hand through tight auburn curls in anxiety, never relenting in his furious pacing.  Tommy was unimpressed.

 

“So?” He grunted, propping his feet up on Ken’s desk and lacing his fingers behind his head.  Ken looked at him with a _whatthefuck_ expression.

 

“ _So?_ _So,_ he thinks you have the money,” he explained, stopping to face Tommy and looked at him as if that explained everything.

 

“Are you coming to a point here, Rosenburg?”

 

“Jesus, Tommy.  He thinks you have the money, and he’s coming here to take it from you!  This is a disaster.  What are we gonna do, Tommy?  I’m too young to die!”

 

At this, Tommy slowly sat up, then stood to face Ken. 

 

“Sit down, shut up.”  Ken did as he was told, looking expectantly at his friend. It was Tommy’s turn to pace as he worked through his thoughts.  Just the presence of his friend brought Ken some peace of mind.  Allowing his heart rate to settle, he gave himself time to really look at Tommy.  He looked good.  Sinfully good.  His dark hair unkempt for once, his dark eyes bright with satisfaction and his clothes slightly rumpled, Tommy looked like he just got thoroughly laid.  Which he had.  But the picture of it sent heat straight south for Ken.  He briefly wondered if the dark-haired man would look so satisfied after fucking _him_ as soundly as Mercedes obviously had just-

 

 _Wait, what the hell am I thinking?  Tommy’s…_ Tommy! _He’s a guy. He’s a guy, and I’m straight.  He’s a guy.  Ah, shut up, Rosenburg. You can’t be fantasizing about your_ MALE _friend.  This is not good._

 

A look of panic crossed his face, and Tommy must have seen it because the next moment he was crouched between Ken’s legs with the lawyer’s face in his hands, forcing him to look at him.  Ken’s breathing sped up, and for a moment he was frozen.

 

“Ken, it’s going to be okay.  I’m going to take care of this,” he spoke slowly and calmly, as if talking a man off the ledge of a high building.  Ken was transfixed with the fluid way Tommy’s mouth moved, and the moment he caught himself gawking he broke Tommy’s hold on him and waved his hands in front of his face in a (rather girly) ‘shoo’ motion.  Tommy stood back up and smirked knowingly.

 

“I know that, Tommy.  I trust you. But stay outta my face, will you?”

 

“Why, Rosenburg, I do believe you’re blushing,” Tommy deadpanned, crossing his arms in front of the lawyer.

 

“What? Don’t be stupid, that’s anxiety.  I tend to get a little flushed when my life is threatened, Tommy!”  Tommy rolled his eyes.

 

“What did I tell you, Ken?  I’ll. Take. Care.  Of.  It.  You just wait here like a good little lawyer.  Daddy will be home soon.”  Ken gave an incredulous snort as Tommy walked out the door.

 

“The day I call you ‘daddy’ is the day pigs fly, Tommy.”

 

**-VC-**

After several agonizing hours of waiting, Ken still sat in his office, worrying.  He swore Tommy would be the death of him.  Or at least the cause of premature greyness.  The phone rang, causing him to jolt upright in his chair.  A shaking hand picked up the receiver and put it to his ear.

 

“Rosenburg Law Firm, how may I help you?”

 

“ _Mr. Rosenburg?  Hi, I’m Lauren from Vice City Hospital.  It says here you’re listed as an emergency contact for a Mr. Tommy Vercetti?”_

 

The blood drained from Ken’s face and he nearly dropped the phone.  Tommy was in the hospital.  That meant-

 

_“Mr. Rosenburg? Hello?”_

“Y-yes, I’m here.  Tommy, is he-“   He couldn’t bring himself to say it.

 

“ _He’s been shot.  He’s wounded, but stable.  We can’t get anything out of him about what happened.  He told us to call you as soon as he woke up_.”

 

“Oh, god.  Is he okay?  Where was he shot?  What do I need to do?”

 

“ _Mr. Rosenburg, he’s fine.  Well, as fine as someone could be after they’ve been shot.  He took a bullet in the thigh.  It went through and through, very barely missed a major artery.  It’s a miracle, really.  You can come visit him as soon as you’re ready.”_

 

“I’ll be there in 5,” Ken stumbled out, already hanging up.  He grabbed his coat and his keys, slamming the door shut behind him.

 

**-VC-**

 

The hospital was buzzing with activity when Ken burst through the lobby doors.  Some recognized him, and they gave him dirty looks as they passed, but he didn’t notice. A chastened nurse quickly pointed him to Tommy’s room- they had _just_ taken him out of the ER- after he threatened to have her blacklisted from every job position in the country.

 

Ken passed several long, narrow hallways before finally making it to Tommy’s room. He opened the door slowly, in fear of waking his injured friend.  No need, as apparently the man was already awake.

 

“Rosenburg,” Tommy barked out, his voice hoarse with exhaustion.  “Get me out of this damn place.  I _hate_ hospitals.”  As if to prove his point, he started tugging at the IV drip embedded in his arm.  Ken took Tommy’s hand – so cold – and held it down, a testament to how weak Tommy was.  Ken could barely shuffle around his law books.

 

“Relax, Tommy.  I’ll have a word with the doctors.  But pulling out your IV and bleeding everywhere is not going to help your case,” he said admonishingly, looking down at his pale friend with a twinge of sympathy.

 

After several hours of doctor-hunting, yelling, and paperwork, Ken Rosenburg was wheeling one Tommy Vercetti out of Vice City Hospital, in the shot-up suit he came in, no less.

 

“I’m fine, Ken, really. I can walk.  I don’t need this damn wheelchair,” Tommy complained as Ken wheeled him to the car.

 

“Sure, Tommy, of course you are.  A bullet to the torso, you’re absolutely fine.”  A rising look of indignation from Tommy’s face had Ken backpedaling.  “I’m sure you’re fine,” he said with a bit more heart, “but the hospital’s policy for patients like you is a wheelchair ride to the car.  I’m already in it deep enough with these goons.”

 

Tommy snorted as he clambered in the passenger seat of the car, wincing as the movement jostled his injury.

 

“I’m gonna need you to help me change these dressings,” Tommy admitted unhappily, gesturing vaguely to his abdomen.  A few beats of tense silence from the lawyer, then a nod.

 

“Sure thing, Tommy.”

* * *

More to come!


End file.
